Small
by Nightwingess
Summary: This is a story about Artemis...a memory from her childhood.


Artemis scanned the area with her goggles, shifting them from infrared to night vision as she searched for any signs of her intended target. Her bow was at her side, ready to strike. Sweat slipped down her cheeks, wetting her outfit, a black stealth number made specifically for this mission.

Some sweat took a direct route to her neck, and eventually fell under her shirt, slipping down her chest sending a shiver, her hands flexed as she moved her bow from one hand to the other. A few more minutes passed and her fists were clenched. She was exhausted, every move working on instinct, fueled by the adrenaline her body created to survive an attack. Here in the outskirts of Gotham she was in the wilderness, shown no mercy by the elements or the creatures that lived in the area. Here, her father could easily place a tiger, a lion, a hyena, any predator hungry for a meal.

Her target could very well be her father; his attacks included anything from an ax to a gun. Regardless of his method, there was always something making its way into her flesh, she had scars to remember all the times her mistakes cost her…the scars of a metal digging into her skin, the pouring blood that looked like a red river or some foreign substance altogether. The notion of blood felt like a lie, that such a flow of liquid could not come at such a rapid pace from your own body, those were the thoughts of a rookie…to think beyond the task at hand, to analyze a wound. No, one must prepare themselves to fight and stay in that state until the mission was done. By now she understood, she knew how to run and attack with a wound, she knew how to carry on as if she felt nothing at all. It was how she stayed alive.

"Artemis," his raspy voice came over the intercom, she narrowed her eyes, "Drop the bow." Her tongue seemed to thrash within her mouth; she wanted to ask why, to question. Questioning meant punishment that varied from kneeling down on rice for a few hours or a whipping.

"Why?" She hissed. Her nature got the better of her.

"Still have that mouth of yours, prepare yourself when we get home. Now that package I gave you. The contents inside are now your tools. Use them to take out the target."

She swallowed, letting her bow fall next to her. The sound of it hitting the ground made a noise, she would be punished for that too but she always tried to send a signal out to the animals she killed, to somehow scare them off so she wouldn't have to witness her father shredding their skin in the most inhuman way. Of course this was a weak thought as the creature that walked among the trees was most likely licking its lips at her scent.

She pulled the package apart with ease; inside she saw a pair of knives. Her father had trained her to use these, drilled the motion of turning them and day after day, night after night she practiced throwing them. She learned how to manipulate her body, her balance to gain a precision and accuracy with her throws that matched that of a professional.

"A bow would be much simpler." She said as she touched the top of one knife, it broke the skin of her finger, drops of blood slipped down the metal like lightning shocking the sky in crooked lines. She looked at her reflection in the weapon, a red line cutting across it.

"You've never used them in the field. Keep it clean, now go." She sidestepped to the direction of a broken branch, her ears trained to catch such small noises. A few moments later, she was on her knees, crawling on the grass. She had reached a comfortable rhythm when the sound of her mark was within her grasp.

The knives in the palms of her hands, she lifted one up, her body rolled down to one side, careful not to disturb the wild flowers above. She swallowed once more, pulled the knife back and locked her eyes with a blackness several shades darker than the grass before her. She threw it, hoping that the hit would directly kill the animal lest she spend the night gutting the poor creature or running for her life.

Less than a second after the release, the blood in her body seemed to stop flowing altogether, her lip quivered and her body shot from the grass, revealing her position carelessly. The sound of her victim, it was immediate, it was _human_.

"Please…" she stepped forward to see the human. A young man, around the age of 16 or 17 years old with faded blue eyes now consumed with red veins protruding from his sockets. He had fair hair and a gentle face; his hand reached forward, his expression that of desperation. Artemis' knife was wedged in the side of his neck, _her_ knife…_her_ actions…

The boy, for he had the face of youth more so than a man withered with experience, was coughing. She knew he would die if she left him here, she knew…

"Stay still." She said with her voice shaking. She knelt down, ripped off her mask, and folded it. She tried to keep her eyes away from his; she was scared…

Her hand, the same hand that released the knife, pulled it out swiftly, followed by her other hand that held her folded mask. She pressed it against his neck, the blood that came from his body, the blood on the knife…it was that feeling again, that feeling that this was some sort of act, a lie, blood can't be that dark, blood can't flow that quickly, blood…there shouldn't be so much blood.

"Y-you're just a kid." She pressed harder as if trying to fill the hole with the fabric of her mask, as if it were a bottle that could be capped off. She was naïve in this thinking but she had never…_murdered_ someone.

"I…I think it's helping." He seemed to breathe again, although blood was filling in his mouth. He turned to face her, the blood spilled over his chapped lips, down to her knees. She held her position, pretending that the movement hadn't fazed her.

"What's your name?" Artemis took noticed of the crescent moons under his eyes; the ends of each were purple. She couldn't converse with him. Her father…her father would hear her, he'd accuse her of being weak. She was insubordinate, she would be punished, more than rice and thrashings…she would suffer Jade's fate…Jade who had come home from a test…she failed and their father shot her in her shoulder joint. He told her if she wanted to live she had to remember her skills to repair the arm herself. She nearly died but he didn't care, as far as he was concerned, her actions, whatever they were that night, made her useless to him. Once the wound healed, Jade left, she left the family…

Artemis' fate would be that of Jade's if she didn't dive a knife into her target's neck or at least removed her hand from the wound. _Target_, the word dehumanizing the boy, he was human. Did it matter? Was she still human? Or had her humanity left her somewhere in between her 8th and 10th year.

"My name is Artemis. What's yours?" She took one knife in her hand, preparing herself for her father's arrival.

"Doesn't matter."

"Why's that?" She was looking into his eyes now; he seemed older than before. He was still a teenager but with the eyes of someone who had seen the world and knew all its flaws, all it's shortcomings and accepted them…because they were inevitable? Where had his soft expression gone, the one of someone blissful ignorance? Had death made him wise?

"You're just a kid." He sighed, turning his head into her, the wound started to pour.

"No, no stop! I'm saving you!" she pushed him back, pressing her knee against his arm to hold him still. She couldn't, no she couldn't deal with this, the idea that she had killed someone, that she was a murderer, that she took a life, a life with two eyes that saw, a mouth that spoke, no she…

"But…you're, you're so small." He tried to move but he couldn't, as small as she was, her grip was stronger than that of the dying.

"You're not going to die." She shook her head, dropping the knife. Her hand touched his cheek; he was so warm, so alive and still fading. For some reason she thought of him as a baby, with skin this soft, unscarred, it seemed he had just entered the world and now he was leaving because she hadn't thought to see, to see what was beyond the wildflowers, a person, a human being. Her head bowed down as she thought to herself, _he began the day like a child, unaware of his fate, but happily expectant of the good things to come._

This was the story her mind was writing for him.

"I-" And then a bow shot from the sky, hitting the boy's head with such a force it fell back and a crack rang out across the air. A crack…it went straight through the flesh, the bone, into his brain where his lasts thoughts lay.

"Idiot." Her father was at her ear, whispering. Her hand was still on the wound but it seemed to vibrate as her insides were convulsing.

"You killed him." He pulled her head back by grapping her hair, nearly snapping her neck.

"Yes, that's what we do." She picked up the knife resting at her knee, her hand flew to her father's torso, pushing and twisting it into him in hopes he would cry out, to suffer. Her father was too well trained; he didn't flinch at her attack.

"Pathetic." He threw her onto the body, pulling the knife out and throwing it at her feet. She heard the metal hit the ground, similarly to her bow. Both weapons of murder. Why had she not seen that? Such weapons were not created to merely wound a victim, to threaten; they hold a power that weighed on the wielder of each. Each time she held them in her hands she was a hunter, a murderer.

She remained over the corpse, _corpse_…she wanted to shield him from her father's sadistic ways, she was ready for his blows, any gunshot, any knife wound, poison, it didn't matter.

"Get rid of the body."

"W-what?"

"That's your punishment, well that and no food for two days. But this seems fitting given that you've grown some sort of attachment. Again, pathetic."

"Who was he?" He never said his name, _doesn't matter_, how could it not? Even though she didn't know him, he had a life where he went to school, he had birthdays, he walked the streets with a smile, he had a mother, a father…was he loved?

"A nobody that no one would miss." She could hear her father walking away; each step had her holding onto the body tighter. She knew with all her fingerprints, her DNA, it was all over the body and her father wouldn't hesitate to give her up, even though she was a child she would be locked anyway…first degree murder, who would stop someone from trying her as an adult?

She got up, pulling the arrow from his skull and snapping it in half, somehow she wasn't even sure she was capable of this force given that it was made of metal. She threw it to the side, refusing to look at it now that she questioned if the snapping sound was real or if it was an illusion, an echo of the boy's skull being pierced.

She spent the rest of the night pulling the body away from the scene. A storm hit the area shortly after her father left; the rain was a blessing as it washed away the blood, but carrying the body off was another challenge. She dug through a nearby trashcan, looking for a blanket of some sort. When she couldn't find one, she emptied the plastic bag and took it with her. She slipped it under the body and used it to drag him away. She kept a slow and steady pace, ducking at every sound, every light. She was a creature of the night now, fearful of those who bathed in the sun, the innocent, or presumably innocent.

It took her half an hour before she reached a body of water. Lucky for her she was in Gotham where the people don't ask too many questions and the police are on the payroll of crooks or else she'd been arrested on the way here.

She gave the boy one last look touching the hole in his head gingerly. Her twisted mind somehow saw it as portal to another world, just like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Here it was a hole of blood, flesh, brain matter. That's what it comes down to, those few layers that protect us from harm, how easily they are penetrated, how is it is to snuff out a life.

She kissed his cheek as a last effort to show kindness, to show some sort of affection as her mind would not allow her to think he was loved. There was a barricade between her imagination and her brain; her heart tried to calm the two with this small favor, a kiss, but it did little good to ease her pain. His skin still felt like a newborn's but it was cold now, his body had gone into rigor mortis, the coldness…that is what added to her guilt, that is why her heart failed to compromise her need to do more and debate the denier in her, the one who claimed his death was not her fault…_but it was_…

She pushed the body the body closer to the water; she stopped herself at the edge. She stood up and kicked the dirt, paced around the lake, avoiding the body until the vibrations returned. They were excruciating, excruciating in way that was different than a knife wound, a shot, a toxin. She jumped into the water.

She swam into the blackness. Screaming, screaming and watching the air bubbles bloom in front of her as she opened her mouth and allowed her vocal chords to shake, it felt like cold fire. She was suffocating but that was the point. Her purpose was to remember that she wasn't invincible, to remember she was still _human_.

"_You're so small_." His voice played over and over in her head, she tugged at her clothes, she pushed her hands into her face in need to rip it off, she slashed around the water and screamed, screamed, screamed. She tugged at her hair, scratching the scalp, drawing blood. _She was human, she was human, she was human and she bled_.

She repeated this for the next two hours, coming up for air, staring at the stars, wanting to run to them and hide and then she dived under the water once again. Eventually the night sky disappeared, replaced by the clouds and the sun, the sun's light hit the lake, highlighting the ripples of her movements and she knew it was time. She threw her head upwards, swam to the edge of the lake and grabbed his hand, his lifeless hand and pulled him down under the water. She felt her way for rocks, picking them up and dropping them on his chest to hold him down. When she was sure the weight would keep his body from floating in the days that followed, she swam up again, crawling out of the water, coughing…coughing as he had done just last night. This similarity did not go unnoticed. She crawled to a tree and cried. That was all she could do, cry and forget, cry and forget, cry and forget. Cry…and hope this day would not repeat itself in the future, that her life would not be that of an assassin's…it was not her nature to kill, it made her sick. She did not want to dehumanize others, she did not want to dehumanize herself to the degree that she could kill a person without remorse, an innocent person…and so young.

"He _was_ a somebody."

This was a memory Artemis repressed in the later years of her life. Still, her aversion to bodies of water, the fear of drowning, the word _nobody_ triggering a sense of ache in her heart, waking up from nightmares of holes in her own head of a knife to her throat…they were all remnants of this night, a night that will stay with her the rest of her life, although in fragments…fragments she may never put together.


End file.
